the cold form; that the silent lips might speak, the eyes look upward
to where the breeze of morning stirred the sacred flag which my own
heart saluted. Lingering thus until the first rays of the sun came to
glorify its waving folds, I drank in deep draughts of patriotism and
love for the holy cause, sweet, inspiring, elevating; a tonic powerful
and lasting in its effects, bracing mind and soul to persevere in the
course I had marked out for myself, to tread unfalteringly a path
beset by difficulties then undreamed of. Not long afterward the
capitol square became forever sacred to Southern hearts; for here,
standing upon the steps of the beautiful monument, beneath the bronze
statue of George Washington, the first President of the Southern
Confederacy took upon himself the solemn vows of office, and at the
same time the stirring airs of "Dixie" and "The Bonnie Blue Flag"
received the stamp of nationality. Ah! then how overwhelming the
applause. But no one dreamed of a time in the far future when the
Southern Confederacy should have become a thing of the past; of a time
when the first faint notes of "Dixie" would have power to sway the
hearts of thousands, to turn quiet crowds into excited, surging masses
of men who would rend the air with cheers and the dear old "rebel
yell," of women who, unable to control their feelings, would testify
by applauding hands, waving handkerchiefs, and streaming eyes how
precious were the memories awakened.

One moonlight evening I stood again before the statue of that grand
patriot and statesman, Patrick Henry. My companions were Mrs. Frances
Gawthmey, of Richmond, and Commodore Matthew F. Maury, a man whom the
scientific world delighted to honor, and of whom it may be well said,
"We ne'er shall look upon his like again." When Virginia cast her
fortunes with the Southern Confederacy, he held a distinguished
position under the United States Government. Had he sought